Heart & Soul
by RuggedIndividual
Summary: After having his heart removed, Bakura is living in a special institution to learn to live without emotions. There, he meets Marik, who has the opposite problem. The two form an unlikely friendship, and maybe even something more. Thiefshipping AU
1. Chapter 1

_Ta -thump... Ta-thump... Ta-thump..._

_...Ta-thump...Ta-thump...Ta-thump..._

…_...Ta-thump...Ta-thump...Ta-thump..._

…_...Ta-thump...Ta-thump...Ta-thump..._

…_...Ta-thump...Ta-thump...Ta-thump..._

…_...Ta-thump..._

_Silence._

_

* * *

_

"_Life without a Heart will be different,"_ they had told him. "_Everything will seem to have changed, and it takes some getting used to, but it's better than dying._" Well, obviously none of them were living heartless, because he would much rather have died than be forced to live like this.

The first thing Bakura saw when he opened his eyes was the ceiling. His first conscious moments since the operation he spent staring at it. He couldn't see anything but white. It was almost as if the whole world was white, just empty space, and he was sitting on the edge of the world, looking in.

He felt physically wrong, like they had taken off all his limbs and reattached them in the wrong places, instead of just taking out his Heart. There wasn't any physical pain. But this, he decided, was just as bad.

He hadn't moved his gaze once since he woke up, so he had no idea how much time had passed. He used the time to think. Some of his memories, he noticed, seemed obscured or glazed over, but other than that nothing seemed off. He recalled what he had been told would happen without any difficulty: the operation, the recovery (which he would be completely unconscious for), and the rehabilitation. He had already gone through the first two, so rehab was all that was left. Then he would be able to leave.

After a while, Bakura heard a door open, and his gaze involuntarily darted to the source. He thought his eyes were on fire. The sudden change from solid nothingness to distinct objects was almost sickening. The worst part, what should have been scary, was that he couldn't make out any distinct colors. Everything was either white, black, or something in-between, but it wasn't obvious that he was seeing in black and white, like a greyscale photograph. Was it just him, or did the room really look like that, he wondered.

His attention refocused as a woman walked in, a big smile on her face. She wore a white dress, was pale, and had black hair. Still no distinct color. She went straight over to some monitors next to his bed and started checking them all. He wondered if he should try to move his head to get a better view of what she was doing, but he didn't get the chance. She turned to him.

"Welcome back to the land of consciousness, Bakura!" she greeted cheerfully. "You've been asleep for exactly one month, and your body has healed completely. Normally it would have taken much longer, but without some of its' other functions to worry about, your body had time to concentrate on healing. Now you're as good as new!"

Bakura decided that she must have had this job for some time. She was able to answer most of his questions without him having to say a word.

"Now, the next few months are going to be spent in rehab," she continued. "The environment you'll be living in is designed for maximum comfort as you get used to living without emotions and learn to be around people again. For part of the day you'll have classes where you'll be taught everything you need to know about living a normal life around other people, and for the rest of the day you'll be allowed to participate in activities, socialize, or stay in your room, if that's what you want."

'_Definitely rehearsed,_' Bakura thought. For one, he doubted he would ever want to socialize again in his life, which he was fairly certain wouldn't be a normal one. He just wasn't sure what the purpose of the ruse was. Hope? That was an emotion.

There was a pause, then the woman spoke again. "Well, if you're ready, I can take you to your room."

Bakura's eyebrows rose, the first movement besides moving his eyes and blinking he had attempted since waking up. "...Now?" he asked, or, to be more precise, croaked. He almost thought there should be some sentimental value to his first word in a solid month, but there wasn't.

The lady smiled and nodded. "You should be able to move just fine now, besides being a little bit stiff. The wound from the operation won't hurt at all."

Bakura paused for a moment, decided she had no reason to be lying, and moved to sit up. She was right; he was extremely stiff, but there was no pain. Slowly, he shifted and got out of bed, and, wobbling a little bit before getting his balance, followed the woman out the door.

They walked for a long time. They were in the medical wing, she told him along the way, and the rehabilitation wing was on the other side of the building. They walked through a seemingly unending amount of long, nondescript hallways, each one as bleak as the one before it. Each one employing the same stark white color scheme, with darker places to contrast every once in a while. Even looking down at himself, he didn't see anything distinguishing. But, then again, he was almost deathly pale anyway, and had white hair. The whole walk, he thought about asking whether the lack of colors was all in his head or not, but he never did.

After a while [he had no idea what time it was] they came to the end of the hallway at a pair of big double doors and stopped. The woman turned around to face him.

"This is the entrance to the rehab wing," she said. "The room on the other side of this door is sort of like the living room of the place. Patients can sit and do whatever they want, like sit and talk or read or use the computer. The right hallway leads to the patients' rooms, and the left one leads to the classrooms and activity rooms. Got it?" Bakura merely nodded, and the woman opened the door and led him inside.

The very first object he saw in the rehab wing of the Domino Institution hit him like a ton of bricks. It was the first thing he had seen since waking up that had any color, and the image was instantly engraved into his mind: that one burst of color, surrounded by nothing but white and grey.

That first bit of color, he found out later, was named Marik Ishtar, the boy with no Soul.


	2. Chapter 2

Orientations were never very interesting, Bakura decided.

It was the day after he had woken up. He had been given a tour of the place after dinner [his first meal in a month], but hadn't been told much about the purpose of the institution. They had shown him his room, which was nothing spectacular, and left him alone for the night. Now, the next day, they were attempting to fill in his gaps in knowledge. Except they were taking their sweet time to get to anything of actual relevance.

As he was waiting, he glanced over at the only other patient in the room. They hadn't been introduced, and didn't bother doing so themselves. He looked like a snob. He had dark hair, was wearing an expensive-looking jacket, and just had a sort of 'holier-than-thou' expression. Which didn't make sense if he was there for the same reason as Bakura. Wouldn't that be an emotion? Maybe personalities didn't count. He didn't know what his own personality was yet, as he hadn't had anyone to test it out on.

"There are many different sorts of patients in the institution," the woman at the front said, and Bakura went back to listening. This sounded like it would be more useful information. "Some are the same as you, learning to live without a Heart. Some have more...unique problems. For instance, we also study Souls at this facility, so some patients have problems of that variety that we're trying to fix and learn from." That answered quite a few of his questions, actually.

"So, while you are allowed to ignore the other patients while you have free time, we encourage you to try to talk to them. Maybe even try to make friends." That didn't seem very likely. "The number one thing I want you to remember, though, is this: you're still a person, just like everyone else. You could let this disability rule your life, or you could take charge and make your own way. After all, this is a very new field of research and study. We could very well be wrong about some things. So, do the best you can! Don't let anything hold you back."

The woman giving the orientation stepped aside, and another one, wearing a big smile [not unlike the woman from the day before] stepped up. "Alright," she said cheerfully. "Now that that's over, it's time for the two of you to go to your first class! Don't worry; these classes are much different than the ones you took in school. You'll be allowed to go at your own pace and learn whatever you think will be the most beneficial to you at the time. I think you'll enjoy it."

Bakura almost pointed out that enjoyment was an emotion, but didn't.

* * *

Bakura's first class was less of a class and more of a "get a book, sit down and shut up" period. There was a wide selection of books on the bookshelf, and the teacher had told them that the sooner they acquired the skills to live normally among people, the sooner they would be able to leave, so to pick their topics wisely. Bakura eventually decided on a book about facial expressions with pictures that looked like they belonged in an autistic child's book. It looked informing enough, though.

After reading the first two chapters he decided that he'd had enough for one day, and studied the pictures instead. He thought that memorizing the expressions and the emotions they were associated with would probably be considered a worthy endeavor by the staff, even if they were probably over-exaggerated to get the point across.

While he was reading, a couple of teachers were calling out names every once in a while, and the patient who's name was called would to the back of the room and speak with the teacher for a while. Then they would go back to their books and the teacher would call someone else. When Bakura's name was called, he followed the other patients' example and went to the back.

"Hello, Bakura," the teacher said with a grin. He wondered why all the staff felt the need to be so cheerful. "How are you enjoying your first day at the institution?"

"It's okay," he answered, once again neglecting to point out that enjoyment was an emotion.

"Are you comfortable here?" she asked. He merely nodded. "That's good." She smiled. "What did you choose to read?"

He held up the book he had chosen, and the teacher seemed pleased. "Very good! That's a very informative book, and understanding facial expressions is crucial when dealing with emotional people. You might even learn to use them yourself in some situations."

"...I suppose that's possible," he replied, but didn't think it was very likely. Nevertheless, his response seemed to please the teacher.

"When you're done with that book, maybe you should look into philosophy," she suggested. "We've got plenty of books on the subject."

"I'll look," he said, and she nodded.

"Now...do you have any questions? I'll answer anything to the best of my ability," she assured him. He thought for a moment. She _had_ said 'anything'... "When I came in yesterday there was someone sitting at a table. He was writing something."

The woman smiled. She probably thought he was making some sort of progress by noticing another human being or something. "What did he look like?"

"He was blond, and had dark skin. I couldn't see his face," he told her. He could still see the image perfectly in his mind.

"Oh, that's Marik! Marik Ishtar."

"Why is he here?"

"He has the opposite problem as you, actually," she said, still smiling. "He has a Heart, but lost his Soul."

Bakura blinked. "That's possible?"

She nodded. "It's very rare at this point, but it does happen. Is that all you wanted to know?"

"...Why doesn't he have a soul?" he asked.

Bakura saw something in her eye that might have been described as a twinkle. "You can ask him, if you'd like."


	3. Chapter 3

From across the room, Bakura had a fairly decent view of Marik. The boy was sitting at the same table he had been when he first laid eyes on him, and was writing furiously in a large, worn-looking notebook. Bakura could finally see his face—his piercing violet eyes, his tan skin, his interestingly styled eyeliner—and he took the tie to examine him.

The boy looked empty, he decided. That was it. He was completely focused on what he was doing, and there was a lack of anything distinguishable on his face. Bakura would know; he had spent a lot of time with the expressions book during the past few days.

Another thing he had looked into in preparation to find out more about Marik were Souls: what exactly they did, how they were different from Hearts—and, more specifically, how someone would live and act without one. What he had come up with had been interesting. While Hearts were the center of emotion, Souls seemed to be the center of thought. So Bakura, who had been robbed of his emotions, only had thought left; with Marik, it would be the other way around. Theoretically, anyway. At the moment the boy barely looked alive.

After a while with nothing changing, Bakura decided to make something happen. He got up, walked over to Marik's table, and took a seat across from him. He didn't say anything; a few moments later, Marik looked up and stared at him.

All of a sudden, there was the emotion. So many, in fact, that Bakura couldn't figure out what they all were, even with all his time with the facial expressions book.

"...What do you want?" Marik asked after a moment of studying him with those violet eyes.

"Nothing," Bakura answered, deliberately meeting the boy's gaze.

Marik paused for a few moments, something of a stare-down taking place between them. Then, suddenly, something in his face changed.

"Alright," he conceded. "What's your name?"

"Bakura."

"Bakura," the boy repeated. "My name is Marik." He paused. "You're one of the Heartless patients, aren't you?"

He merely nodded. He didn't have much to say on the subject. But, for some reason, Marik smiled.

"Well, you came over here for a reason, Bakura. What was it?" he asked. Bakura had already planned what he would say to him if it came down to conversation.

"A teacher said you didn't have a Soul," he said simply.

Marik's eyes seemed to glaze over for a moment. "...did they?" He quickly snapped back to life. "And basically, you want to know more." Bakura nodded. "Alright, how about this: I'll tell you about my Soul if you answer some questions for me first."

"I can do that," Bakura answered. It seemed like a fair trade, although he couldn't help but wonder what sort of questions Marik would want to ask someone he just met.

Marik grinned and quickly scribbled something down in his notebook. He made sure Bakura couldn't see what he was writing. "Alright. Bakura. Question number one: How do you feel about living without a Heart?"

Bakura just stared at him. The boy's grin didn't waver for a moment. "Okay, stupid question. Number two: How does it _physically_ feel to not have a Heart?" he asked.

"...Wrong," Bakura answered after a moment. That was really the only way he could describe it. Marik nodded and scribbled some more in his notebook.

"How long have you been here?" he asked.

"A few days," Bakura told him. In truth, it had been four and a half days, but he didn't think the details mattered.

"Okay, so you're pretty new," Marik said thoughtfully, tapping his chin with his pencil. "Anything weird? Like, I don't know... pain, numbness, vision problems, craziness... Stuff like that."

Bakura had already decided that, if it came to it, he wasn't going to tell Marik about the problem with his near colorblindness. He didn't know if he could be trusted with the information. It wasn't hard to come up with a fake answer. "Nothing like that, no," he said. More scribbles in the notebook.

"...I see," Marik said when he was done. "Well, that's sort of disappointing, but. Whatever." He shut his notebook and attached the mechanical pencil to it. Before Bakura could wonder what he meant, he spoke again. "It's almost time for group activities," he observed.

"You were going to tell me about your Soul," Bakura reminded. Marik seemed to be the type of person to let his mind wander, he thought.

"Oh, right! My Soul," the boy remembered. "Well... Okay, my Soul was forcibly removed," he said with a grin.

"...That's it?" Bakura asked after a long pause.

Marik seemed extremely amused. "If you want more information, you have to answer more questions," he said with a teasing grin. Just then a voice over the loudspeaker announced that the group activity would be starting in five minutes. "Are you coming?" he asked.

"..._why?_" Bakura questioned, uncomprehending. He had never been to one so far.

"Because it's fun," Marik said matter-of-factly. He stood up, grabbing Bakura's sleeve in one hand and his notebook in the other. "Come on, I bet you'll like it!"

Bakura couldn't think of a reason to pull away.

* * *

"Hello, class! I'm glad you've all joined us," the teacher at the front greeted, wearing the same smile that every other staff member had. She seemed to be addressing her greeting specifically to certain people, Bakura included. "Today, we're going to be making crafts out of all different kinds of things and painting them. When you're done you can take your creations back to your rooms! I hope you're excited!"

One glance at Marik showed that he obviously was. "Arts and crafts are great," he whispered with a big grin. "It's when they try to make us play games that it gets stupid."

The patients in the room were divided into groups of four, with each group getting their own table and pile of junk. "You can make whatever you'd like," the teacher told them. "Try to use this medium to express whatever it is you're thinking or feeling right now."

Marik attacked the pile of junk viciously, grabbing an odd assortment of things that had absolutely nothing in common that Bakura could tell and putting them into small piles of his own around his space. The boy across from him was much more particular about what he chose, and the person across from Bakura, who just happened to be the snobby-looking guy from the other day, seemed to be picking out anything that looked sharp.

Bakura hung back for a few minutes, not knowing what he should be doing. Before long, however, an idea struck him, and he picked out a box, some extra cardboard, scissors, glue, and some string. Using the scissors he cut the box so that its height was only a couple of inches, then glued some cardboard around the face of it like a frame. Then he turned it over and made some small holes in the side. Cutting two long pieces of string, he knotted one side and stuck the through the holes. Then he cut out two small circles of cardboard and stuck them to the other end of the string.

Pausing for a moment, Bakura glanced around the table. The kid across from Marik looked like he was making a diorama of Ancient Egypt. Everything was very precisely detailed, and Bakura couldn't help but wonder whether he was basing it off of something or making it up as he went along. The snobby guy was making some sort of dragon. He had painted all of his sharp objects one color, something light, and was putting them together on a wire frame that he had shaped.

When his eyes rested on Marik, he had to look twice. The boy had glued together a bunch of his items in what looked like a very precise manner, but Bakura couldn't find any sort of pattern. Then he had drenched it with paint. In fact, Marik himself was practically covered in paint, and was still wielding the paintbrush against his sculpture with zeal.

"...Can I borrow some paint?" Bakura asked, somewhat hesitant to distract the boy lest he cover everyone else with it, too.

"Go ahead," Marik replied, not taking his eyes off his project.

Bakura quickly snatched a couple of paint bottles—what he hoped were black and gray—and a paintbrush, then set to work again. He painted the face inside the frame black, and everything else gray, then waited for everything to dry.

Finally, when everything was safe to touch again, he cut another piece of string and glued it in a straight line across the face of the box, and was done. He stared at it for a little while, waiting for everyone else to finish, before Marik got his attention.

"Woah!" the boy exclaimed, picking up the box. He was still covered in paint, but most of it had dried by then. "This is cool! What's it supposed to be?"

"A Heart monitor," Bakura answered.

Marik froze, looking at the Britt for a few moments before breaking into a huge grin. "That is _genius!_" he said, looking it over again. "These are the things they put on your head, right?" he asked, his violet eyes sparkling as he held up the circles at the end of the string.

"Chest," Bakura corrected.

"Whatever. This is so cool!" he repeated.

Bakura didn't understand what was so great about it, but didn't ask. "You can have it," he said. "I don't need it."

"Really?" Marik asked, looking doubtful. Bakura nodded. "Well..you can have mine, then. I've already got a bunch of this sort of thing anyway," he said, handing over his sculpture.

"Oh..." Bakura took it, looking it over more carefully now that it was done. He still couldn't figure out what it was he was looking at. Then he remembered that he should probably say something. "Thanks."

Marik smiled. "Don't mention it. Yours is way cooler, anyway."

* * *

Bakura walked back to his room slowly, avoiding the other patients around. His attention was almost completely focused on the strange object in his hand. He had never asked Marik what it was supposed to be, but now he couldn't stop thinking about it. No matter what angle he held it at, whether he was concentrating on the shape or the texture, he just couldn't think of anything it resembled. Eventually he came to the conclusion that this was because it _didn't_ resemble anything, and that he should stop thinking about it, but for some reason he was finding that difficult.

He looked up from the object to try to direct his attention on where he was walking when something caught his eye. Staring at it, he was stunned. It was a flowerpot sitting on a little table next to the wall, unremarkable except for one detail: it was purple. Bakura blinked. Definitely purple. That was it; that one solitary, somehow familiar bit of color on a wall of gray. He thought hard, and suddenly remembered where he had seen the color before.

It was the exact same shade of violet as Marik Ishtar's eyes.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Hello, people. C:

When I read a fic that doesn't have an author's note in any of the chapters I feel like I'm talking to a brick wall when I review, and I don't want any of you feeling that way, so. I've got a couple things I'd like to say:

**1)** Thank you, everyone who read and especially to those who reviewed, _so much!_ I can't even tell you how happy you've made me. I've gotten the best reviews I've ever gotten on this story, so I really really appreciate it. C:

**2) **I don't own any of these characters. I generally don't put disclaimers on stories, just because it's obvious that I don't own anything but the idea, but I thought I might as well say that here.

**3)** Just a fun fact: Whenever I'm trying to figure out whether something is an emotion or not, I think of whether Spock would be able to feel it or not. Now, I know that that's not the best comparison, since Spock is actually half human, but it amuses me to compare Bakura to Spock. |D

This chapter took me a little longer to write just because I was struggling to come up with the crafts scene. I'm so glad I didn't force myself to write it, though, because while I was writing it I came up with a key plot point that will be very important at the end of the story that I never would have thought of otherwise. So, I hope you don't mind if sometimes chapters take a little bit; there isn't a chance in the world that I'll abandon this story, so you don't need to worry about that! I've got basic plans set out for six more chapters, and a basic idea of how it's going to end. But, if NaNoWriMo taught me anything, it's not to plan the ending completely so that you'll have room to change it if you need to!

Thank you again for reading and reviewing, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

It was morning, and Bakura had just finished with breakfast. He was headed back through the main room to spend a little more time in his quarters before the first activity of the day when he spotted Marik sitting on one of the couches. Marik had spotted him, too.

"Hey!" he grinned, motioning to the seat beside him. Bakura took it. "So?"

"...So?" the Brit asked.

"So I was wondering what you thought of this place so far," Marik said cryptically.

"I'm not sure what you mean by that."

"Just, stuff you've noticed about it," the Egyptian supplied. "Stuff they're teaching, how they're teaching it, the staff members. Things like that."

"Hm." Bakura paused for a moment. "They seem earnest enough, but they're pretty forceful about what they want you to learn," he said.

Marik frowned disapprovingly, like he was looking at a 12-year-old that had just asked him where Russia was on a world map. "Really? You've been here how long and you haven't figured it out yet?"

Bakura looked at him. "Is there something more to it?"

Marik heaved another heavy sigh, this time with more than a hint of frustration. "Yes, of course there is! What do you think the point of this place is, anyway? Besides research, I mean."

The Brit took a few moments to formulate his answer. He hadn't actually seen it yet, but he wasn't eager to incur the Wrath of Marik Ishtar. "It's supposed to rehabilitate people who lost their Hearts or Souls," he said diplomatically.

Marik rolled his eyes. "But tell me, Bakura, what do you need rehab for? You're fine, physically. And mentally you just need to adjust. You're able to cope a lot better with people now than you were a week ago, right?"

"I suppose," Bakura answered. He didn't mention that part of this was because Marik had insisted on them hanging out together fairly often.

"So? Why are you here? Why are any of us here?" Marik demanded.

Bakura merely shrugged.

Marik grimaced, gripping his pencil tightly. "Let me know when you figure it out," he said through a clenched jaw, and that was the end of the conversation.

A long silence followed, the only noises coming from Marik's occasional scribbling in his notebook—who's contents were still unknown to Bakura—and the other people in the room. The Brit took this time to try and piece together what it was about this place that would make Marik feel so strongly. He had to keep in mind that the boy was probably at least a little bit unstable, but he had also been in the institution longer than Bakura had, although he wasn't exactly sure how long. Was his sudden disapproval the result of some time of careful observation, or just a side-effect of living without a Soul?

That brought him back to a second point, which he had been observing and pondering often during the past few days. He hadn't noticed it during the first day he had spent with Marik, but the boy seemed to be very quick to switch moods. From what Bakura had seen, even the smallest things could make him light up like a firework—but then, the smallest things could upset him as well. He wasn't able to go in depth on this topic, as Marik started talking again.

"Look," he said, pointing to the unfamiliar kid who had been a part of their table during the arts and crafts projects a few days ago. "That guy's name is Yugi. Guess what his problem is."

"Ehm..." Bakura watched the kid for a few seconds, unsure of how exactly Marik expected him to know what was wrong. He decided to go with the most likely and vague answer. "He's missing something."

Marik shook his head. "Actually, no. His problem is that he has _two_ Souls and a Heart."

"How does that happen?" Bakura asked.

"I have no idea," the boy shrugged. "I've ever actually talked to him."

Bakura looked at him. "Then how do you know he's got two Souls?"

"I've asked. And watched," he answered simply. "See how he hesitates a lot whenever he does something?" They paused to observe. 'Yugi' was playing some card game with another patient, and from the looks of it, every move he made took a lot of careful deliberation. "It's because the two Souls aren't in agreement. It makes a lot of things hard to do for him."

"You seem to know a lot about him for someone who's never talked to him," Bakura pointed out.

Marik shrugged. "He's been here a while. Almost as long as me. And I write about the different patients that come through here. I don't talk to them often, though."

"You talked to me."

The boy paused and looked at him, eventually smiling brightly. "You talked to me first. That never happens."

Before Bakura could reply, a voice on the overhead speaker alerted the appropriate patients, and all of the others, that class was about to start. He didn't mind being interrupted, because he would be able to look into what Marik had been talking about earlier, so he got p and said goodbye, leaving the boy alone with his notebook again.

* * *

"How are you today, Bakura?" the teacher asked with a smile.

"Fine," Bakura answered. He had learned to answer positively to these questions despite the fact that giving an honest answer was impossible.

"That's good! Now, do you have any questions for me today? You always seem to want to know about interesting topics."

"I want to know why I have to be in rehab," he said, wasting no time. He had other questions, but this was the most important.

The teacher seemed caught off-guard. "Why? Didn't they tell you that before you came here?"

"They did, but I forgot," he lied.

The teacher smiled sympathetically. "I see. You're here so that you can learn how to live in the outside world again. Unfortunately, now that you don't have a heart, you think differently than the general population, so you have to relearn how to behave and get along," she said. It sounded rehearsed. "It might not be fair, but that's how it is."

"Why do we have to relearn it? Why didn't we just remember?" Bakura prodded. He wanted a real answer.

"Well... That's actually a very good question," she said, pausing to think it over. "For a lot of patients, their lives before they had the operation is sort of like a display behind the glass at a museum. They could see it all, but it didn't really affect their lives afterward. Some patients even view their emotional selves as illogical, and try to distance themselves even more from what they were. We try to prevent that, if we can. Does that answer your question?"

"Sort of." Bakura made a mental note of what she had said so he could come back to it later. Now that he had more information he needed to change the subject to keep her from getting suspicious. "Can I ask you another question?" he asked.

She smiled, looking relieved. "Of course," she said.

"I talked to Marik Ishtar a few days ago, like you said."

The teacher looked very surprised, but also very pleased. "Oh, did you? That's wonderful!"

Bakura simply shrugged. "I was wondering if you knew anything about his behavior. I've noticed that he seems to switch moods very quickly. Is that normal?"

"Yes, it is," she told him. "I think it has something to do with not having rational thought to govern his emotions, but I don't work with him often, so that could be wrong."

That explained a lot. "Alright. Thank you."

"You're welcome," she told him with a satisfied smile. "If you ever have any more questions, let me know!"

"I will."

* * *

While he was gone, Marik had disappeared off to who-knew-where, which didn't bother Bakura too much. It gave him time to think. He sat down in the almost-empty common room on one of the couches with a book entitled Introductory Philosophy. He had chosen it by a staff-member's suggestion, hoping it would give him some of the answers he sought. Obviously it wouldn't be able to tell him why he could only see the color purple and whatever colors Marik Ishtar happened to be wearing, but it might be able to give him a better idea of what a Soul was, and what an emotion was, for that matter. The thought struck him that apparently curiosity wasn't an emotion, or he wouldn't care enough to do any of this. But now he was curious enough to seek answers about _two_ people. Maybe he should start a list.

He skipped quite a few chapters before coming across one that looked interesting. It was titled 'Consciousness', and in it he found a definition of a Heart. Part of it read: "...capacity for sympathy." He stared at it Did this have anything to do with what Marik was talking about earlier?

After a moment of thought, he grabbed a pen sitting on a side table, flipped to the back of the book where there were some blank pages, and scribbled the quote down. Then he wrote down the vague clue that the Soulless boy had given him, that he didn't technically need any rehab. The thought that he probably shouldn't have been writing in a book didn't occur; he decided that whenever he came across something that seemed relevant he would write it down, to keep everything organized.

He didn't have time to look for any more clues; he glanced up and saw Marik in a doorway on the other side of the room talking to a woman Bakura had never seen before with dark hair. He closed the book and put the pen back. Once the Egyptian was finished talking he skipped over to where Bakura was sitting and plopped down next to him.

"Hi," he said cheerfully.

"Where were you?" Bakura asked. He had never seen that door used before.

Marik's expression turned into one of annoyance. "Getting examined," he he sighed. "Although it's less of an examination now and more of a 'What would you do?' Q&A. So annoying."

This was the first Bakura had heard of any sort of examination for patients, so he decided to ask about that, too. Marik didn't seem to mind his near constant questions, so he might as well ask them. "Why were they examining you?"

Marik shrugged, suddenly passive. "I don't know. To see if I've magically acquired some good judgment since last week, I guess."

Bakura quirked an eyebrow. "Good judgment?"

The Egyptian's demeanor was back to that of an irritated child. "Figure it out yourself." That was the end of that conversation.

The two of them were silent for a few minutes, both of them following their own thought trains in peace, until Bakura thought of something.

"Do I get to ask you another question about yourself now?"

"Huh?" Marik looked at him, confused.

"You asked me about the institution and I answered your question."

"You gave me a lame answer, though," Marik smirked. "You'll have to do better than that. Ask something else."

"Fine," Bakura sighed. Wracking his brains for something that would be appropriate, he suddenly came up with something he hadn't thought of before."What's the point of living if you don't have any feelings?" he asked carefully.

Marik became deadly serious, and took a long time before answering, staring straight. Finally he spoke. "Is this a hypothetical question or one directly relating to you?"

"Either one."

The Egyptian sighed and gave him a sidelong glare. "Hold on," he grumbled, and began flipping through his notebook. Bakura risked a glance at the contents as they flew by. He couldn't read much of it, save random words, until Marik flipped by a page with two words written in what looked like red crayon spanning the whole page. The letters spelled 'MALIK ISHTAR'. He wondered if he had read it wrong, but didn't have time to ponder further.

"Okay, here it is," Marik said, stopping on a particular page and lifting the notebook so that Bakura could no longer see the words. "'Yes, the program is controversial. For some it wouldn't be better than death, and others think it's worth a try. After the procedure we try to the best of our ability to help patients adjust, but ultimately it's the their job to decide what they're going to do with their life.' That's a direct quote from one of the scientists that started this whole program," he said, closing the notebook and looking at Bakura. "People come in here for lots of different reasons. Some of them don't feel like they have a purpose afterward. They'll never tell you this, but the suicide rate here is pretty high."

At that he looked down, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Bakura waited for him to continue speaking; it paid off in a few moments. "I don't know why you're here, Bakura. I don't really know anything about you. But you obviously thought this life would be worth something."

Again it was silent, the two of them just looking at each other as Bakura thought about Marik's words. He apparently thought Bakura was going through some sort of existential crisis, so his words would mean that...what? He cared about Bakura? He was worried? The thought seemed almost unfathomable, but coming from Marik it was less so. Either way, he had to agree. He must have thought this life would be worth something. He wasn't sure he completely remembered what those reasons were, but he found that he didn't really care, either.

The Egyptian snapped him out of his thoughts again. "I'm going to bed," he announced, then paused. "Hold on." He whipped through his notebook again and pulled out a few pieces of paper stapled together and handed them to Bakura. "You can look at that, but I need it back later." Bakura nodded obediently, they said their goodnights, and Marik left.

Before the Brit followed suit, he looked down at the papers. The title was, "WHAT IS A BUCKET LIST?" in big, blue letters.

...Blue. The letters were blue.

Well. He wouldn't have a shortage of things to think about for quite a while, it seemed.

* * *

...Um. I sat on this chapter entirely too long, and for that I apologize. I was scared to edit it. It's funny how after trying to write a chapter of something for more than three months, and then you go back to read the previous chapters, how cringe-inducing your writing suddenly is.

That being said, I am very very very sorry I made you all wait for months and months for this. I really don't have an excuse. Some big things did happen these past few months, but I still had plenty of free time, which I spent slacking off. I'm sorry. I'll do better, I promise! D:

Some things that've happened in the past few months:

1) Got into Homestuck  
2) Moved  
3) Grandma died :(  
4) Power struggle at church sort of it was weird  
5) Trying to start using Livejournal?

It's been sort of crazy. :'D Anyway, Livejournal. I really want to start using it and make some friends, so if you have an LJ, please add me and tell me who you are? My username is quasiroyale. Or you could just drop your username off in a review if you're going to do that anyway, and I'll friend you! C:

And lastly I'd like to say, I cannot even tell you how much I appreciate your reviews. Seriously. You are all so sweet and amazing with your compliments and you've brought tears to my eyes more than once. I really can't thank you enough. C':


	5. Chapter 5

'Study time, recreational time, lesson time, lunch, free time, creative time...' Bakura read the day's schedule with disinterest. It almost sounded like how a kindergartener's day might play out. The Brit could recall not being very fond of school. He would probably skip most of optional periods.

Setting down the slip of paper, he picked up something much more favorable to read, which he had saved for that morning: Marik's pamphlet on 'Bucket Lists'. Wasting no time, he began reading.

'A bucket list is a list of things you want to accomplish before you die,' the first line told him. He went on reading what the first page had to tell him about any people being able to focus better with a visual list, and determination and the like. As he was reading, the main objective on his mind was to figure out why Marik had given this to him, and the first page wasn't giving him any answers. He went on to the next page.

This one was much less text-heavy. The sub-header said 'How to Write a Bucket List'. He skipped this part in favor of something much more interesting further down on the page. Two columns of blank lines had been left, presumably for the reader to use for their own Bucket Lists, and if Bakura was remembering correctly from the few times he had seen Marik's handwriting, it looked like the Egyptian boy had already started his list. The Brit quickly looked over to what had been written.

_1. Get out of this damn place_

_2. Go back to Egypt, at least for a little while_

_3. Become a psychologist and do social experiments with people_

_4. Learn to make a really good cake_

_5. Make a friend_

After reading the list, he went back and read it again, more slowly. The implications of each one intrigued him. The one that caught his attention most at first glace, however, was the last one, because it had a red checkmark next to it. None of the others did. He could only assume that meant it was the only one on the list that Marik had completely so far.

Silently, Bakura went through a mental list of who this friend could be, and came up with...nothing. Granted, he had no idea when the list was written, but he had never seen Marik talking with any other patients besides himself. He supposed it was possible that _he_was the friend being referred to, but that seemed unlikely. He couldn't have been very entertaining in his current state.

Resolving to investigate later, he looked over the other things on the list again, and realized that he couldn't get an even close to full story on them without asking Marik himself about them. The first was fairly self-explanatory; he obviously didn't enjoy being at the institution, and was possibly being forced to be there. The others, though, Bakura had no clue about.

He wasn't going to be able to get any farther on his own, and he needed to leave soon if he was going to make it in time for breakfast, so he abandoned the papers on his bedside table and left the room.

* * *

Before Bakura got a chance to even get in line for his meal he was being flagged down by Marik, sitting at a table for two. He walked over and took a seat.

"Morning! I got you a tray already," Marik said, surprisingly cheerful considering his mood yesterday.

"How did you know I'd even be coming for breakfast?" the Brit asked, but took the tray anyway and began eating without a thought. "For that matter, what are you doing here? You don't usually eat here." He had no idea where the boy _did_eat, but he almost never saw him in the cafeteria.

Marik shrugged. "Lucky guess?"

Bakura looked at him for a moment, then continued eating.

The Egyptian paused before speaking again. "...Are you okay? You seemed sort of...out of it yesterday."

The Brit could only guess he was referring to their conversation last night. "I'm fine," he said. "I was fine yesterday."

Marik frowned pointedly. "You were saying weird things yesterday," he insisted.

Bakura continued forking food into his mouth. It wasn't particularly appetizing, but it could have been worse. Better to get it over with quickly than to let it become a long, drawn out ordeal. "I don't believe I was," he replied between bites. He really just wanted to ask about the things on Marik's bucket list, but if the boy was worried then changing the subject suddenly would probably do nothing but convince him he was right.

"You _were_," Marik repeated and gripped his fork, annoyance and frustration quickly seeping into his voice.

Bakura could see where this was most likely to end up, but that still didn't keep him from replying. He wasn't sure what else to say. "I think you're overreacting," he stated.

Suddenly the Brit realized it probably would have been better to just stay silent. Marik's face became icy, and in a few fluid motions he stood up, knocking his chair to the ground, grabbed the edges of the small table, and flipped the whole thing over so that it lay on it's face on the ground next to them, trays and all. The rest of the room became completely silent as all eyes were on the two of them, but the only thing that Bakura noticed was the desperate rage in Marik's eyes.

The Egyptian glared at him for a few more seconds before finally turning and stomping out of the room. Bakura as well as almost everyone else stared after him as he left, more than one person trying to figure out what had just taken place. For Bakura, the question was much more urgent. Without Marik one of his main sources of information would be cut off, and he would be placed at a severe disadvantage. His own approach apparently hadn't worked, so he would need help. Quietly, after a few more moments of shocked silence, the Brit stood, dropped his fork on the ground with the table and trays, and exited the room himself. He had almost finished eating anyway.

* * *

"Hello, Bakura! You're a bit early," the study time teacher greeted as he strode into the room. He was early; half an hour at least.

"Did that kid return the eye book?" was his reply.

"Yes, it's right over there on the shelf! The green one," she said cheerfully, then went back to her papers at her desk.

Bakura's partial color-blindness seemed to be growing more problematic. He was sure that, if possible, it would be downright annoying. It was almost as if everyone was plotting to use all the colors that he still couldn't see. This was irrational, he knew, but he couldn't help considering it. Nevertheless, it wasn't hard to find the book he was looking for, and he hoped that it would give him some answers on his vision.

He sat down, but didn't get the chance to even open the book before something else caught his attention. The snobby guy suddenly walked over to the teacher deliberately, slamming the door behind him. Bakura opened his book and pretended to be reading instead of listening in on the conversation that would follow.

"Good morning, Mr. Kaiba," the teacher greeted pleasantly.

"I've decided I would like to be released now," he said bluntly.

She kept on smiling. "I'm afraid that isn't possible at the moment," she said, mock regret in her voice. "You haven't finished with your time rehabilitating yet. You aren't ready to go back to the outside world."

"I'm more than ready to go back to the outside world," he informed. "I know what I need to know, and anything else I can figure out later. I have a company to run."

The teacher frowned slightly. "I'm sorry, but you really do need to complete the course, for your own safety and for the safety of everyone around you," she argued.

"How long will that take?"

"It all depends on the individual."

"I don't have time for that," he stated. Suddenly he switched approaches. "I wasn't asking your permission, I was informing you of my decision. I suppose I'll have to speak with one of your higher-ups."

She grimaced. "I wish I could tell you otherwise, but anyone you talk to will give you the same answer," she assured him. Realizing he was getting nowhere, the man promptly turned around and left the room, again slamming the door behind him.

Once he was gone the teacher sighed and leaned back in her chair, looking at the ceiling for a moment. She glanced over in Bakura's direction, suddenly realizing that he had probably been listening to the entire thing. "I really wish all of this wasn't necessary, but we're just trying to make the rest of your lives go smoother," she sighed.

"...hn." He paused. The more he heard about all of this the less he wanted to trust the staff members. "I got Marik mad at me," he finally said.

The teacher smiled slightly and sat up straight, going for her papers again. "Maybe you should apologize," she said, and began working.

"...maybe."

* * *

The next break he got, Bakura took out his philosophy book and parked himself on one of the commonroom's couches, pen at hand. He began writing notes about information he had gleaned from the short conversation between the teacher and 'Mr. Kaiba'. The more he thought about it, the more the place was starting to sound like a prison.

Once he had done that, he took a few moments to look through the few things he had written so far. There wasn't much, so he decided to write down what had happened with Marik. After that he stopped again, and thought about the problem. Would Marik stay mad? What was he even mad _about_, exactly? The Brit had obviously done something to offend him, but wasn't clear on what. Maybe the whole thing would blow over by itself and he wouldn't have to worry about it.

Just then Marik walked through the room. Bakura watched. The Egyptian only glanced at him once, gave him a dirty look for a split second, and looked away again. Evidently, things _weren't_ just going to fix themselves.

* * *

**A/N:** Why are all my chapters so short? This is just awful. I'll try to make the next one longer! (And when I go back and edit the whole thing I'll probably switch some things around to make it seem less tiny.)

Well, here is the fifth chapter! I told my friend (Who helped me a lot with getting my butt into gear to actually write this! Thank you Bunny! (oh man I don't even know if you have a ff.n account that is also awful!)) that there would be some actual thiefshipping in this chapter. I lied. Sorry. Everything will be fixed next chapter, though! And then we can move onto some more exciting things! C8

And now for some shameless plugging!

1) Livejournal. My name is Quasiroyale. Add me!

2) Tumblr! My personal account is on my profile, and I do a bunch of derping and throwing around ideas there (Yugioh!Clue is going to be a thing, I will make sure of it), but I'm also doing a cool college AU on another blog, which is going to be like platonic Thiefshipping but it'll also have some cool side pairings like Deathshipping, and I'm willing to take suggestions on other pairings! The url is dominouniversity[dot]tumblr[dot]com for those interested! C:

That's everything, I think. It's almost like the author notes are half the size of the chapter. That's sad. :'D Thank you very much for reading and reviewing! I can't convey my gratitude through simple text! C'8


	6. Chapter 6

Bakura dreamed.

He dreamed that he was outside in the sunlight, surrounded by grass and trees. He was laying in a field, staring up at the clear blue sky, not doing or thinking anything, just staring. It was relaxing.

A sound drifted over to him from the forest, faint almost to the point of being inaudible. He listened carefully but was unable to identify what it was, just that it was unpleasant. It grew louder and louder as the time passed, seemingly calling to him. Finally he gave in. Into the woods he wandered, hoping he was going the right way. The thicker the woods got, the more they seemed to change. Vines turned into electrical cords. Walls of trees became walls of steel. Lumpy roots gave way to smooth metal floors. Before too long he was no longer in a forest of trees, but in a cold, familiar building.

He continued walking. The noise got louder, and sounded more unnatural, with every step he took. Eventually he came to a set of doors, bold signs saying "DO NOT ENTER" on both. He pushed on them, and they gave way. He entered the room, the source of noise, to find huge, bulky machines lining the walls, all pointing toward a tilted bed in the middle. In the bed lay an unconscious young man with dark skin and blond hair, his arms, legs and head strapped in place. He had hundreds of wires poking into him in various places, all connecting back to the machines, whose noises were now deafening. He didn't feel right.

"Marik," he said out loud. The person didn't stir. He went closer and repeated the name. Still nothing. He came beside the bed and slowly, hesitantly, placed a pale hand on the person's cheek. Then he lowered it to the neck, checking for a pulse. It was there, albeit slow and irregular. Now he felt very, very wrong, almost like he was in pain. He wanted to help, and he didn't know why, and he didn't know how. He felt helpless, and very alone.

Bakura woke up.

* * *

A loud sound of something slamming into the table brought Bakura out of his thoughts. He had stayed behind in the dining room after lunch, since it was quiet and he had some things to think about. He had sitting in front of him his philosophy book, the book he had gotten on eyesight the other day, the bucket list packet to mull over some more. He was just considering what his own bucket list would look like if he decided to make one when he was interrupted.

He looked up to find Marik standing on the other side of the table, arms across his chest and his face in an expression of suppressed anger. The two looked each other in the eyes for a moment, silent. This was the first time Marik had come near him since their 'disagreement' and Bakura wasn't sure how safe it was to engage in another conversation at this point. But, the boy had to have come here for some reason.

Finally, Marik broke the silence. "Well?" he asked expectantly.

Bakura thought back to the teacher suggesting he apologize. That was probably the best choice, he figured, since he was unsure of what else to say. "I'm sorry for offending you," he said slowly. He didn't think it smart to mention that he had no idea why he was apologing

Marik seemed to accept this, because he uncrossed his arms and took a seat in the chair next to Bakura's. "You're an idiot," he said, a hint of bitterness in his voice. Bakura shrugged. Marik glanced at him, then turned his gaze straight forward and took a deep breath. "You probably have no idea what I'm talking about." He paused. "Okay. I don't like it when you try and hide things from me," he said, clenching and unclenching his jaw. "Despite what the staff here believes, I'm not an idiot. Just because I can't control myself sometimes doesn't mean I don't know when I'm being lied to."

"I don't think you're stupid," Bakura defended. Marik leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest again, not saying anything. Bakura paused. "Why _did_you get so upset anyway?"

Marik didn't say anything for a while, avoiding his gaze, but finally he spoke. "Remember how I said that the suicide rates are really high here? It always starts with them asking weird questions and being deceptive. I've listened to a lot of patients talking to each other and to staff acting just like that, and two weeks later they're dead."

Bakura remained silent, hoping that the boy would continue. Realizing that he was waiting, Marik did just that. "I already told you I never really talk to anyone in here. I don't want my only friend to off himself," he said, his tone defensive as he stared the Brit down.

That explained a lot. "We're friends," he said, as sort of a mix between a statement and a question. He wasn't completely sure how Marik would justify that. He personally hadn't given much thought to the question of what constituted a friendship, and what feelings should be behind it. Whichever ones they were he knew he was lacking in that department, but apparently to Marik it didn't make a difference. Maybe he just liked having some company. Bakura couldn't say he minded that either.

"Of course we're friends," Marik spat, looking offended. "Stupid." Bakura wasn't sure how to answer this, but before he had to come up with something Marik sat up and scooted his chair over close enough to Bakura that their chairs were touching, and leaned over to see the papers he had been puzzling over. "Oh," he said, a pleased smile spreading over his face as he realized what it was. "Are you actually going to do this?"

"I'm not sure if I can," Bakura stated. "I can't think of anything I want to do."

"Oh, please," Marik rolled his eyes. "There has to be _something_. Are you planning on staying here forever?"

"No," Bakura answered.

"There's your first goal, then." Bakura obediently wrote it down in the first slot, adjacent to Marik's. "You'll have to come up with the other things by yourself. Maybe thinking about things you wanted to do before you had surgery would help," Marik suggested.

"Maybe..." He hadn't done much thinking about his former life. It wasn't a purposeful thing, it just never crossed his mind very much. That time seemed like it had been years ago, when in all actuality he knew it had only been a few months. It didn't really bother him, as he felt he had more important things to worry about now, but if Marik really wanted him to finish a bucket list he supposed he would have to do as the Egyptian had suggested.

Looking at the blue paper aimlessly, Bakura remembered what Marik had just said about keeping secrets, and after some quick consideration, he spoke again. "Remember when we met, and you asked if I was having eyesight troubles?"

Marik turned to look at him questioningly. "Yes. Why?"

"I was colorblind at the time," Bakura answered.

They were both silent for a few seconds. "But you said that your eyesight was fine," Marik said slowly, narrowing his eyes a bit.

"I didn't trust you," Bakura said, watching Marik carefully. The man looked unsure of how to react. He bit his bottom lip and stared at the floor, looking conflicted, from what Bakura could tell.

"I'm not colorblind anymore," Bakura told him, hoping to remedy the situation. "Not completely, anyway."

"What do you mean, 'not completely'?" Marik asked, turning to face him again.

"I can see some colors now. They seem to be coming back gradually, one by one," Bakura explained.

Now Marik looked genuinely interested. "Is there a system to it? Do you get each one back after a certain amount of time, or after doing something? Which ones can you see now?" he asked in rapid succession, grabbing his notebook and pen eagerly flipped to a blank page to begin scratching down notes.

Bakura paused. "Each one I've gotten back has been the same color as something you've given me," he said.

Marik paused and looked up at him again. "Really?" Bakura nodded. "That's odd... I've never heard of something like that happening before."

Bakura waited, giving Marik time to think it through. He had given it plenty of thought himself but had come up empty. The fact that Marik had been the very first bit of color he had seen since waking up was probably significant, but he wasn't ready to give away that piece of information yet. He hoped it wouldn't make too much of a difference for a potential diagnosis, if Marik was able to find a reason at all.

"Wait a minute!" Marik exclaimed, jerking his head up. "Do you think it has to be an unconscious thing? Or would you be able to see more colors if I gave more colorful things to you?"

"Anything could happen," Bakura shrugged. Marik began writing furiously in his notebook again.

"I could find some-" Suddenly he stopped and looked up and off in the distance, down a hallway. Bakura leaned forward in his chair to try and see what Marik was looking at, glancing between the boy's face and the hallway, one that he had never been down before. Nothing caught his eye. Finally Marik spoke again, saying "I have to go," and before Bakura could even say goodbye he had tucked his notebook and pen under his arm and was gone.

* * *

**A/N:** NaNoWriMo kicked my ass. I'm not going to end up finishing it this year, but that's not necessarily bad news for you-I _am_ more inspired to write now! And the next few chapters are ones that I've been waiting to write for quite a while, so I'm thinking they're going to be up a lot quicker than these past ones have been. (Sorry again for the wait!)

This chapter is dedicated to all the people on tumblr that ordered me to write when I needed motivation to actually finish this chapter. Thank you, guys! (Speaking of tumblr, I've got writing, mostly thiefshipping, posted there that I haven't put anywhere else yet. The link is on my profile if you're interested.) Also, thank you to all of you readers and reviewers. Whenever I see that someone has alerted or reviewed this story my day is instantly made. C:


	7. Chapter 7

Bakura exited one of the classrooms and took a seat in the nearly empty common room, carrying yet another new book, one on abnormal psychology. It was a long shot, he knew, but he was running out of options. The classes were getting less and less helpful. He needed more sources of reliable information, but had no way of finding them.

Before he was able to make it through the first two pages of the book, Marik seemingly appeared out of nowhere and took a seat next to him, leaning over and getting right to business.

"Are you busy?" he asked quietly, clutching his notebook to his chest with one arm.

"Not really," Bakura replied, shutting his book. He had plenty of time to read it.

Marik nodded, looking relieved, then glanced around the room suspiciously. "Can we go somewhere else?" he asked.

Bakura surveyed the other three people in the room, completely uninterested in what the two of them were doing. "I suppose so," he answered questioningly.

Marik jumped up and grabbed Bakura's arm, pulling him along while watching the others in the room carefully. The two proceeded down an inconspicuous hallway that Bakura hadn't yet explored. As Marik dragged him along he made sure to read as many of the signs by doors as he could. Most of them seemed to be examination rooms, or offices. The hallway ended in a T, but before but before they could get there, Marik had stopped in front of one door in particular, with a little sign that said 'waiting room'. He pushed it open without knocking, peeked inside, and, determining that the coast was clear, he pulled Bakura in and locked the door behind them.

The room was unspectacular for a waiting room. There were chairs lining the walls, a counter, and a coffee table. Marik released Bakura at last and sat down in one of the chairs in front of the coffee table, and Bakura followed. "Okay, first," the dark-skinned boy said, taking out his notebook. He dug in the spiral binding that held it together for a few moments before pulling something out and holding it in front of him. It was a fork. "Tell me what color this is," he demanded.

Bakura stared at it for a few seconds. "Where did you get an orange fork?" he finally asked, wondering if his brain was misinterpreting the color.

Marik grinned. "I have sources," he said mysteriously, placing the fork in Bakura's hand. "Now you can see orange."

"I suppose I can," he answered, puzzling over the fork. It seemed Marik was serious about helping him regain his full eyesight. "What else did you want that we had to come in here for?"

"Well." Marik paused and diverted his eyes, looking skittish for a moment. "A couple of things."

Bakura looked at him expectantly. "Like?"

Marik cleared his throat. "Remember when I told you about my Soul?"

"Yes," Bakura answered immediately, recalling the sparse amount of information Marik had given him when he had asked about it. Namely, just that it had been removed, and because of that he had trouble with self-control.

Marik paused for a moment, diverting his eyes to his hands and back to Bakura before replying. "It's evil."

Bakura blinked. "Excuse me?"

"That's why they removed it," Marik frowned. "They said it was evil, and that I was out of control. I don't really remember much of it."

Bakura mulled over that. He assumed that 'they' were the doctors of this institute. From what he had been told from some of the staff members and the incident with Seto Kaiba, it didn't seem unlikely that something like that would happen. "What makes something evil exactly?"

"That's what I've been trying to figure out," Marik told him, looking frustrated. "Nobody will tell me specifically."

"Have they told you at all what you were doing?" Bakura asked.

"No. For all I know I could have just been making threats," Marik sighed. "This whole place is incredibly suspicious."

"You think there's more going on here," Bakura concluded. Marik had made his distrust of the institute very clear before, and this just gave the man a reason to be suspicious.

"Absolutely," Marik said, resolute. "The staff hides things from me. They avoid my questions and they won't let me go in certain rooms. They won't even tell me when I'll be allowed to leave. I can't remember the last time I've been out of this ward. There's something wrong with this place."

They did some of that to him too, Bakura realized. If he wasn't the only one noticing these things then there was probably a real problem with this place. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked. He could recognize how much trust this was taking. Trusting that he wouldn't rat Marik out, for one.

Marik looked Bakura in the eyes, his expression unreadable. "I need help," he finally admitted. "Nobody else is willing to. The staff is keeping everyone in the dark on purpose and the patients think I'm crazy if they know who I am at all." He paused, swallowing. "You're the only person who's questioning any of this. And you're my only friend."

This suddenly made a lot more sense. Marik didn't talk to very many people, so he didn't have anyone to discuss theories and observations with. Bakura didn't either, but for Marik it was potentially debilitating with a missing Soul. He probably couldn't even trust his own thought process, which would make solving the problems this place presented incredibly difficult. It only made sense that he would seek outside help.

"So?" Marik asked, apparently getting impatient.

"I'll help you," Bakura agreed. In reality, there wasn't a reason for him not to, and maybe now he would be able to make more progress than he had when just asking questions to the staff and reading books that weren't completely relevant to what he was looking for. In addition, he had spent a good amount of time trying to untangle the mysteries of Marik Ishtar and figure out what it all had to do with his own development.

Marik gave a short sigh of relief. "Thank you," he said. "I'll make sure you don't regret it, okay? I'll help you with anything you want, too. I have connections with the staff and some of the doctors, if you need it. And you can ask me any questions you want, too."

"I'll keep that in mind. What were you planning on doing first?" Bakura asked.

Marik thought for a moment. "The best thing to do would probably be to just sit down and share what we both know, since I'm sure there are still things you haven't been telling me."

True. "That's fine." He glanced up at the digital hanging inconspicuously on one of the walls. "Was that it? I have a class in a few minutes."

Suddenly Marik started fidgeting a bit. "Well. That depends."

"On?"

"On whether you can promise me you won't get mad or offended or something," he said sincerely.

Bakura stared at him blankly. "I think you're forgetting something here."

Marik folded his arms and gave Bakura a sour look. "Better to be safe than sorry. And does offence count as an emotion?" Bakura shrugged, and Marik sighed. "Anyway. I guess the other thing I wanted to tell you is that I...might kind of be in love with you."

It was quiet for a few long moments as Marik waited for a response and Bakura tried to come up with one. It took him a while to manage it. "...what?" he asked.

"I'm not completely sure yet," Marik warned, frowning. "But."

"...Does this happen often?" Bakura asked dubiously.

"No. ...Yes." Marik paused, thinking. "It's happened before."

"What did you expect to gain from telling me this?" Bakura questioned.

"Nothing, really. I guess I just wanted to tell somebody. And you're sort of my only friend, remember," Marik answered him, staring at the ground like he was starting to zone out.

"...I see." Bakura could tell that this would take some time to fit into everything else that was going on.

Marik snapped out of his short daze promptly. "Anyway, you should probably go to your class now, right?"

"I suppose."

"Okay, I'll see you later." He paused suddenly, seeming to remember something. "Oh, wait a minute. Do you want to meet my Soul?"

"_What?_" Bakura asked. It seemed he couldn't recover from one surprise before being bombarded with another.

"It's a yes or no question; I'll explain later. Do you want to meet my Soul?" Marik repeated.

"Erm...yes," Bakura said, more as a question than an answer.

"Alright," Marik said. "Go to your classes and meet me back in the common room at 9:30. Make sure nobody gets suspicious."

Without waiting for an answer he stood from his chair and exited the room, notebook tucked under one arm, leaving Bakura alone again.

* * *

**A/N:** And once again I prove myself utterly incapable of writing long chapters.

Thank you for your reviews, and I hope you're all having a wonderful Christmas/Hanukkah/holiday season! C:


	8. Chapter 8

Bakura sat in the commonroom, waiting absently for Marik to appear, as he had been told to. It was 9:30 and Marik had had plenty of time to arrive, in Bakura's opinion, but he had no choice but to wait. He was reading a book to look inconspicuous, and the occasional staff members that passed through the room all left him alone. He didn't know if there was such a thing as a curfew here; he had been sitting there for the past hour or so, and quietly observed as most of the patients retired to their quarters, on their own, with no urging from any staff. As he was usually alone in his room long before this hour, he could only assume—and hope, for his and Marik's sake—that they were allowed to retire whenever they chose.

Bakura couldn't help but notice how quiet it was in there. The only thing that broke the silence, really, was the sound of rustling paper; the only other permanent occupant of the room was Seto Kaiba, who seemed to be looking through a stack of books and papers intently. He didn't bother Bakura, and he was fairly certain the man wasn't keeping tabs on him, so he didn't try to do anything about the situation, despite Marik's warning to not let anyone see him. It wasn't like Marik had arrived yet, anyway.

Finally, that changed. Just as Bakura was looking up from his book to glance around the room and see if there was any sign of the one he was waiting for, he noticed a dark face with light hair poking around the corner of the hallway that the two had been down just earlier that day. Marik spotted Bakura quickly, and noticed him looking at him. They stared at each other for a few moments, then, after glancing around the room and eyeing Kaiba warily, he came out and walked over to Bakura in a dignified manner, a sudden change from the childlike image he had displayed just moments ago.

"I thought I told you to be discreet," he said quietly, sitting down next to Bakura with a slightly irritated tone.

"How am I not being discreet?" Bakura asked absently.

"You're sitting out in the open," Marik replied with his arms crossed, obviously trying very hard to keep from raising his voice. "And you're never out this late, either."

**"**I doubt anyone but you is keeping track of that sort of thing, Marik," Bakura told him, closing his book and looking at the man. It was a little strange to think that Marik would have been keeping track of his sleeping habits, but if he really thought about it maybe it wasn't so surprising. If Marik really was in love with him as he claimed, anyway. And that was still a difficult concept for him to wrap his head around.

"You can never tell," Marik defended himself, looking away with a huff. His posture changed after a few seconds, to something more alert and cautious. He looked around the room, his eyes finally resting on Kaiba, who was paying absolutely no attention to either of them in favor of his papers. "We can't go anywhere with him watching," he said softly, his eyebrows furrowed.

"I've been sitting here for the past hour and I haven't seen him look up once," Bakura said quietly, glancing over at the other patient. "I don't think it will matter much."

"I can't take that chance," Marik shot back at him, looking a little upset. "I'm trying to show you something secret and I can't afford anyone getting suspicious or finding out, okay?"

Bakura looked at him for a few moments, slightly puzzled. "He really isn't paying attention. How about you leave first and I'll follow you in a few minutes," he suggested quietly. Marik paused to think it over, and apparently decided it was the best decision because he stood and strode back out of the room the way he had come, leaving Bakura and Kaiba alone again. Kaiba didn't so much as look up from what he was doing.

Bakura reopened his book to read another page or two before standing and following Marik to the hallway.

* * *

The room Marik took him to was one that he would have completely missed otherwise. It was tucked away discreetly in one of the crevices of the hallway, and even if he had seen it, he wouldn't have thought there was anything spectacular about it. It didn't have a nameplate like most of the other doors did, announcing its function, or a window for curious eyes to peek through. It was just a solid white door. He would have guessed it was a closet if asked.

Marik opened the door—just opened it, it wasn't even locked—to reveal a room much bigger than a closet. It looked like any of the other rooms in around, having completely white walls and floor. The difference was it was almost completely empty; there was no furniture at all. The only thing occupying its space was a large, boxy machine in one corner. Marik closed the door after Bakura entered the room and walked right over to it. Bakura followed and, surveying the it further, concluded that it almost resembled some kind of cage. Embedded in the very middle there was a glass box with different wires and tubes connected to it from inside the machine. Compared to all the equipment Bakura had seen in the different wings of the hospital so far, it looked unfinished, with covering panels missing and stray wires protruding from various places.

"What is this?" Bakura asked, studying it closer. There was one small panel on the side that had ten or so buttons on it, which was where Marik had chosen to stand.

"Hold on a minute and you'll see," Marik replied, pushing a few buttons. Bakura looked back to the machine and was surprised to see changes taking place inside the glass box. There was what looked like smoke flowing through the tubes into it, and instead of diffusing through the entire space, it all swirled together into one gray form. Then, it seemed to change itself to create a distinct shape, and it wasn't long before Bakura could recognize limbs and a head. Marik watched in silence, a neutral look on his face. Eventually the form of the upper half of a human being had distinctly materialized and was floating in front of them. And, with a menacing grin on its face, it looked almost exactly like Marik, yet different in an unidentifiable way.

Marik took a deep breath. "Bakura, this is my Soul."

"_This is him?" _the form laughed darkly, leaning closer to the glass to look at Bakura. **"**_No personality _or_good looks. You must be getting desperate."_

Marik looked conflicted as to whether he should defend himself or Bakura. "I am not," he finally said indignantly.

_"Please, spare me the 'he's different' speech. I've heard it enough."_

Marik bit his lip and looked away. Malik took the opportunity to direct his attention to Bakura.

"_So. Bakura, hmm? What's it like having no feelings?"_he asked with a wide grin. **"**_I don't know how you can put up with my Heart, honestly. Every time he visits I feel like I'm talking to a child."_

Bakura looked at the form blankly. He wasn't sure what he was expecting to happen during this meeting, but this wasn't it.

"I've never had any difficulties like that," he finally said, speaking form laughed loudly.

"_Oh, please. You don't need to lie to _me_, Bakura. We're practically kindred spirits! So tell me, what exactly do you want to get out of my Heart, exactly? Information? Assistance?"_

"I—" Before Bakura could form a full sentence in reply, he was silenced by the sound of fist on glass. The form looked almost as surprised as Bakura probably did, and Marik looked absolutely furious.

"_Those are all lies,"_Marik snarled, emphasizing each of his words. "I didn't bring him here for you to cause trouble and make me doubt myself, understand?"

A smirk spread onto the form's face. "_Fair enough,"_it said, **"**_but answer me this, Marik. Why did you bring him here?"_

There was a long pause, where Bakura switched his gaze between Marik, his Soul, and back again. They both seemed to be almost frozen, with the form still smug and Marik still angry.

"You're done," Marik finally said quietly, his expression morphing into one more passive as he pressed a few buttons on the machine's keypad. His Soul's expression didn't change, but its form did start to swirl around again, like smoke, melding into itself in a reverse process of the one they had witnessed just a few minutes ago, when it materialized, until there was nothing visible left. Then Marik turned around and walked over to the opposite wall and, leaning his back against it, he slid to the floor.

After taking a moment to look over the machine one last time, Bakura followed, taking a seat on the floor next to him. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes, Bakura sure he didn't have anything to say that could come close to remedying the situation. Finally, his curiosities got the better of him.

"Why _did_you bring me here?" Bakura asked.

Marik didn't look at him. "I...I don't really know. I guess I just wanted to show him to somebody. I've never been allowed to tell anyone about him." He paused, looking reminiscent. "I used to spend almost all my time in this room, just sitting here and listening to him talk. It almost wasn't any different than when we were one person. My siblings told me I needed to stop visiting him so much, but there was never anything else to do. I always wanted to tell someone about him. But there wasn't anyone, until you came along."

Bakura let that simmer in his mind for a little bit. Marik was opening up to him a lot lately, for reasons that he was still attempting to completely comprehend. He couldn't say he minded it, though. And finding out about Marik's Soul was very interesting. If he could get Marik to tell him more about it, it was possible he would be closer to understanding his own situation better. Once again, it seemed, Marik was the keeper of all the information Bakura needed.

"He was laughing and insulting you," Bakura pointed out. "How? Souls aren't supposed to have emotion."

"I know," Marik said with a grimace, finally looking at Bakura. "It has something to do with how he became evil in the first place. I think, somehow, my emotions found a way to contaminate my Soul. And Malik was the result."

"Malik?" Bakura questioned, remembering the page in Marik's notebook he had caught a glimpse of with the same word written across it.

"That's what I call him," Marik said, diverting his eyes again. "It's stupid. I guess it's because he's more...malicious, or something."

"That's not stupid," Bakura said.

That earned him a grateful smile. "That probably wasn't what you were expecting, huh?"

"Not really, no," Bakura answered, "but I had no idea what to expect anyway."

A short silence settled between them again, and Marik sighed and rested his head against the wall. "We should probably go back now. I don't want anyone getting suspicious." At his suggestion, Bakura stood, and held out his hand to help Marik up. They walked back down the hallway in silence, and, after Marik deemed the commonroom safe, he let Bakura continue to his room alone.

The day had certainly been a...revealing one, and Bakura decided he was going to need some time plugging this new information into his prior understanding. He was almost certain he would need to reevaluate some things, especially the functions possible to a Soul. But, none of that would happen that night. He fell into a light and restless sleep almost immediately after getting into bed.

* * *

**A/N:** WOW that took way longer than it had any right taking. I can blame the chapter for part of it, but. It was mostly me and my strange inability to focus on writing very much lately. Sorry about that, guys. :'D

Anyway, I'll definitely try to be quicker with the next chapter. I hope all of you that're on summer break are enjoying your summer! C:


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